Don't
by trunks111
Summary: Clyde. Angst. Suicide.


' _To people who find this:_

 _This wasn't anyone's fault. I did what I did because it was right for me. Don't worry, I acted alone. I needed this. It's what I wanted. And so, I did it. Don't feel sad or angry or anything like that for me. I'm happy. Happier than I ever could have been. There's no one to blame for this either. I did what I thought was right.  
_ _I could argue with you, about all kinds of things. Why, I never seemed that way, I had so much going, what about us? And the list goes on and on. I did it for myself. We all have free will. I used mine as I saw fit.  
_ _I thought, I weighed, I considered. It took me a long time. I really did think about this. Every possible way out, I thought about. I thought about my happiness and what it meant to me. What my happiness was. I spent a long time on that question.  
_ _Each time I thought I found it, it shattered. Either I ruined things, as I so often do, or it was taken._

 _So I made a decision, all by myself. To do what was right for me. Don't be sad, or angry, or guilty, or say what you would have done differently. Just accept it. Accept what is, in a way I never could. Just know, now, I'm finally lastingly happy._ '

He finished typing and left his computer screen on, going to his backpack. He dug in the deeper part, eventually drawing out his previously and illegally purchased six pack. Next, he unzipped the front pocket and withdrew the pills he had purchased. He carried both items to his bed, setting the drinks on the nightstand and the pill bottle remaining in his hand. He sat on the bed, almost robotically. His brown eyes were distant, but he set the bottle on the stand before taking out a drink and opening it with his shirt. He set the cap on the nightstand and held the bottle between his legs. Once sure the bottle wouldn't spill, he picked up the pills and opened the bottle. He broke the little protective seal and poured a small amount into his palm. He didn't bother counting. He set the open pill bottle back on the stand and took a swig of the alcohol. He popped the pills into his mouth after, swallowing heavily. He took a few more sips of his drink before taking his favorite book from the nightstand drawer. He planned to reread it before going to sleep.

He read, drank, and downed pills for the next five hours or so. Eventually, he could barely keep his eyes open. He was down to the last bottle of his six pack. He was determined to finish it before going to sleep. He grabbed it and opened it, before swinging his legs off the bed and wobbly walking over to the computer desk. He downed more pills and alcohol as he played a simple computer game. Finally, both bottles were empty. His vision was getting dark around the edges. He wobbled his way back to his bed and laid down. He pulled his favorite blanket over himself and wrapped a strong arm around his favorite stuffed teddy bear that he'd had for the last almost six years. He buried his nose in it's fluff and closed his eyes, drifting off almost immediately into a dark and dreamless sleep.

Well after he should have returned home from school, Mr. Donovan got a call from the school, saying his son hadn't been in class that day. He finished the drive home, getting off work at five p.m., he expected to see Clyde on the couch watching tv or something, sheepishly smiling about how he had overslept and not woken til noon.  
Instead, he didn't see Clyde. The house was unusually silent for Clyde being home.

"Clyde!" He called up the stairs.

No answer.

He started to get annoyed. He put his things down in the dining room like usual and then went up the stairs, fully intending to give Clyde an earful for not only missing school, but ignoring him when he had been called.  
He knocked, politely first. Waiting for a response.  
Minutes passed and non came. He pounded on the door next, Clyde would know he was getting passed annoyed at this point.

Still, no response from Clyde, not even a sleepy "what?". At that, Mr. Donovan opened the door.  
What he saw, was Clyde wrapped in his blanket, cuddling his bear. He thought his son was asleep at first. The computer screen was on, suggesting Clyde had been on it and left it on, like he was always telling him not to do.  
A document was open. Normally, he would have left it alone, but it was typed differently than anything he had ever seen. It was in the format of a letter, they had covered letters in eighth grade, Clyde was a Senior in highschool. He wouldn't be writing letters.  
He began reading, with growing horror. He dashed to his son's side, he wasn't breathing, his skin was already paler than his normal slight tan from football. He was cold and stiff as well.

Mr, Donovan wept beside his son's body. He knew Clyde had said not to be sad for him, but he had outlived his wife and now his son, he was empty. Vaguely he wondered when Clyde had become so articulate and what had driven him to this. But he couldn't fathom it. He stumbled from his son's room to the downstairs, where a phone was. He dialed the local police, telling them numbly he needed a body bag. He explained what he found as best he could, and they told him someone would be out shortly. After that, Mr. Donovan sat on the couch and just stared at the carpet.


End file.
